


Heir Of Fire: Rowan’s POV

by illgiveyouthesun



Category: Heir Of Fire - Fandom, Rowaelin - Fandom, Throne of Glass - Fandom
Genre: Angst, F/M, Heir of Fire, Kingdom of Ash, Romance, Rowans POV, Sarah J. Mass, Throne of Glass, rowaelin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-04-18 06:57:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14207619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illgiveyouthesun/pseuds/illgiveyouthesun
Summary: Heir of Fire from Rowan’s POV. Originally published on FanFiction.net. Hope you enjoy!





	1. Chapter 1: Heir Of Fire Chapters 1-7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heir Of Fire: Chapters 1-7 from Rowan’s POV from when he finds Aelin in Wendlyn to when he delivers her to Maeve. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Originally published on fanfiction.net @tillwhatverend. All chapters are available there!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! If you don’t know, this work was originally published on fanfiction.net @tillwhateverend. I’m currently working on rewriting it and uploading it here, so please be patient with me! Hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> UPDATED AS OF 1/29/19

Rowan had been watching her all morning, and so far the only thing Adarlan's Assassin had done to impress him was manage to not pass out from all the alcohol she had consumed.

Lounging on the roof of a beaten down shop in the slums of Varese, drowning herself in wine and gnawing on teggya bread, the girl could have easily passed for one of the city’s street vagrants who had succumbed to the heat. Perched on the roof of a building across the street, Rowan had a perfect view of her, not that there was much to see. The only movements the assassin made were to drink from her now empty bottle of wine and shift her arm in to shield her eyes from the glare of the midday sun. As far as Rowan could tell, the only weapons she was in possession of were the daggers strapped to her sides. They gleamed in the harsh sunlight, freshly sharpened and ready for bloodshed, but their owner looked more inclined to use them to cut a slice of teggya bread than do any actual damage. Besides, if her split lip and bruised cheek were any indication, she preferred other forms of fighting as of late. Lazy, defenseless,and looking for a fight. Brilliant.

The girl had been lying still for so long Rowan was contemplating swooping down and pecking at her, just to see if she'd react, when she heaved herself off the boiling terra-cotta and slowly rose to her feet before stumbling over to the roof's edge and sliding down the buildings drainpipe into the streets below.

 _Finally_. Rowan took off from his perch, gliding down into the alleyway and shifting in a flash of light. _Gods, he'd forgotten how badly this city reeked._ The moment he shifted his senses were flooded with it's stench, only worsened by the sweltering heat. Peering around the corner, Rowan had to fight off a laugh at the sight before him. He had arrived just in time to see an old street hag hissing at the assassin, demanding she find somewhere else to scavenge. Once the woman had stopped her screeching, he waited for the girl to say some self-righteous comment, but she only flinched and stumbled backward, the apology that passed her lips barely audible even with his Fae senses.

In the wake of the woman’s rage she simply stood there and blinked, trying to clear the haze of alcohol from her mind. The street vagrant hissed at her again, even as the girl raised her hands in a placating gesture, and spat at her feet. Honestly, it was a pathetic show on both fronts. The woman was hunched and curled with age, the walking stick she clung to the only thing allowing her to remain upright. Her hair was matted into clumps, surrounding her pockmarked, wrinkled face that was now twisted in an expression halfway between fury and madness. Then again, the girl wasn't exactly better off. Her clothes were dirty and torn, her face bruised and golden hair tangled with a mixture of sweat and dust. Honestly, Rowan couldn't blame the woman for mistaking her as another scavenger competing for territory.

Having had enough of the street vagrant on assassin-turned-vagrant confrontation, Rowan moved to step out of the shadows. Just as the girl raised her head and caught her reflection in a dusty, cracked window on the side of the building.

Her eyes widened in an expression of shock and disgust as she took stock of her appearance. First, the torn, dirty clothes she wore, stained with the evidence of her rooftop escapades— alcohol and the grease of old teggya bread. Then the circle of dusty curls surrounding her bruised face, neither of which did anything to detract from the scent of her. Gods, she reeked bad enough to rival the city.

From the way the girl wrinkled her nose, she seemed to agree.

A laugh, harsh and cold, escaped Rowan at the flurry of emotions in the girl's eyes. The pure disgust and self-loathing was a welcome, familiar expression. He'd seen it on his own face often enough.

He stepped out of the shadows, and the girl whirled to face him. The moment she saw him, she froze. Silence spread through the alleyway as he prowled closer, so complete it was a miracle the beggars and vagrants huddled in its alcoves were still breathing. The woman who’d been spitting at the girl a moment ago began whimpering.

Their fear, while delicious, was nothing compared to the pure terror emanating from the girl as he approached, as she realized who he was— _what_ he was. Oh, she _knew_. He had begun to doubt it as he had watched her waste away on that rooftop, but she the person his queen had sent him to find.

Any disgust the girl had felt at the sight of herself vanished, the fear that flooded her at the sight of him cutting through the heat blanketing the alleyway like a knife. Her eyes, a dull version of the telltale gold-ringed blue that identified her as an Ashryver, caught on his pointed ears and gleaming canines before following the lines of his face. It was an effort not to laugh again when they widened at the cruel, brutal lines of his tattoo.

Her gaze hardened as she recognized the look in his eyes, the way he moved his body. Rowan could still hear her pounding heart and smell the fear she was so desperately trying to conceal, but he recognized the change in the girl. She was no longer a terrified child faced with a ghost from her past but an assassin marking her opponent, searching for any weaknesses to exploit. From the look on her face, he knew she found none.

Rowan smirked when the girl slid a hand into the folds of her cloak, no doubt reaching for the dagger she had concealed there. A good effort, but a futile one. If the girl was foolish enough to try and attack him, he would be more than willing to teach Adarlan’s Assassin how little her steel mattered against five centuries of raw strength and training. It would only take him a single blow to end her life, either with his fists or the sword and knives he was carrying. Not to mention his magic.

Fear had cleared the alcohol-induced haze clouding the girl's eyes, revealing them to be... empty. Empty and dull, with no trace of the fire she possessed.

The girl barely passed for an assassin, let alone the heir to one of the most powerful empires in the world. Her long, golden locks were dull and dusty, her skin burnt by the sun and coated in a layer of sweat and grime. Her lip was split open, the skin cracking in the heat, and coupled with the bruise blossoming across her cheek she looked like she had gotten into a bar fight and lost. Badly. And gods, she _reeked_.

Still, under the stench, Rowan could smell it. Fae blood coursing through her veins, faint and distant after years of disuse, but there. Ready and waiting to be unleashed.

The girl shifted into a defensive position, clutching the handle of her dagger so hard her knuckles turned white. Her other hand flitted up towards her neck, as if she was reaching for something to hold on to.

Rowan grinned at her, feral and wild and savage, and it seemed to shake the girl from her stupor. She took a deep breath before slipping into a slow, sauntering gait as she walked towards him. When she opened her mouth, she somehow managed to make her voice sound confident despite it being a cracking, dry rasp. "Well met, my friend," she purred, her tongue flitting out to wet chapped lips. "Well met indeed."

The girl stopped a few feet away from him, her attempts to hide her fear and racing heartbeat failing miserably. Still, her voice held only bravado as she continued her posturing. “What a lovely surprise. I thought we were to meet at the city walls.”

"Let's go," Rowan snapped, turning his back on her as he left the alleyway. He wasn't in the mood to play an assassin’s games, or entertain this nonsense. Not when Maeve had sent him all the way to Wendlyn for this... shell of a person, one who couldn't even be bothered to bathe or comb her hair.

The girl hesitated for a moment, but followed. If she was smart, she had likely realized this was a conversation she would prefer to have elsewhere, away from prying eyes and ears. Rowan hadn't missed the look on her face when she'd realized he was Fae. Depending on how much she’d put together, she had likely realized he knew who she was— and who had sent him to find her.

Because the girl now walking steps behind him was not only Adarlan's Assassin or the King’s Champion, but Aelin Galathynius. The sole heir to Terrasan, a princess who had been presumed dead along with her parents for almost a decade.

Rowan didn't bother acknowledging her as they made their way through the city. He ignored the stares from its citizens, the whispers that trailed him through alleyways and courtyards. The clamor of Varese's marketplaces was a distant chorus, overshadowed by the heavy silence spreading through the narrow streets as they passed.

They reached the two mares Rowan had purchased from a street vendor earlier that morning, the courtyard he’d left them in empty except for a few people doing their best to remain invisible. If he hadn’t been so pissed off, Rowan might have mustered some amusement at the sight.

He mounted his horse and turned expectantly to the girl. She raised her eyebrows slightly, but shrugged at him as she approached the older, russet-colored mare and stuffed her satchel into the saddlebag before saying, "I've known a few brooding warrior-types in my day, but I think you might be the broodiest of them all.”

Rowan whipped his head around to glare at her, only to find the girl already smirking up at him."Oh, hello," she purred, her tone far too... relaxed for his liking. "I think you know who I am, so I won't bother introducing myself. But before I'm carted off to gods-knows-where, I'd like to know who you are."

Self-righteous brat. Rowan surveyed the square, the crowd of people doing a piss poor job of pretending they weren't listening to their conversation. He stared at them a moment too long, his gaze hard, and they all scattered. Once he was sure they’d fled, he said, “You've gathered enough about me at this point to have learned what you need to know.”

"Fair enough. But what am I to call you?" Rowan seriously debated not answering the question, just to see if it would get under _her_ skin. Then again, it wouldn’t do any real harm to tell her his name. Perhaps it would even get her to shut up.

"Rowan," he said, instantly regretting his decision as wicked amusement sparked in the girl’s otherwise empty gaze.

"Well, Rowan,” she crooned, her voice still sultry despite its raspiness. “Dare I ask where we're going?"

Rowan debated teaching her a lesson then and there about how she should speak to him, but decided against it. He had a feeling she would only take it as a sign she was succeeding in her attempts to get under his skin. "I'm taking you where you've been summoned."

Rowan waited for the girl to ask where that was, but she was silent as she mounted her horse and nudged it into a walk. He didn’t move for a moment, confused at her sudden compliance, until he smelled the fear radiating off of her. Clearly, she wasn’t as indifferent about her safety as she wanted him to think.

To Rowan’s relief, the girls didn’t break her silence the entire ride out of Wendlyn. He was not in the mood to deal with her or her sass, a fact she thankfully seemed to have picked up on. Any more disrespect would have likely ended in bloodshed, and he was certainly not in the mood to tell Maeve he’d murdered the girl before they even left Wendlyn.

It was Rowan who broke the silence when they had ridden a few miles into the forest surrounding the city, and but it was only to tell the girl it was time to make camp for the night. He’d hoped to reach the Cambrian Mountains before sundown, but the girl looked like she was about to pass out if she had to spend another minute on her horse and he really didn’t feel like dragging her body through the woods. Whether it was from exhaustion or her preoccupation with her own thoughts, she simply dipped her head in acknowledgment and followed him into the trees.

After a few minutes, the path opened up into a moonlit clearing, and Rowan had to hold back his sigh of relief at the sight of a place to sleep that wasn’t a branch or a hole in the side of a mountain. The exhaustion from his three day flight from Doranelle was finally catching up with him. He hadn’t even had the energy to laugh at the girl as she had stumbled through the dark, tripping over roots and rocks.

Still, he gathered the dregs of his energy and led the horses to a nearby stream to drink, rubbing them down before returning to the clearing. By the time he was done, Rowan’s bones felt like lead, and it was a relief to throw his bags against a tree and collapse beside them. The forest was quiet, but as Rowan sat there breathing in the crisp, clean air his ears caught the sounds of the birds chirping and the wind moving through the trees. It had been too long since he’d spent his nights like this, out in the wilderness with only his own thoughts for company. He’d forgotten what it felt like, the freedom that sleeping and flying under the sun and stars gave him. Of course, there was the fact that this time he was accompanied by a less than favorable traveling partner.

In the distance, he could hear the girl bathing in the stream, scrubbing off the grim and sweat she had acquired during their ride and the weeks she’d spent wasting away in Varese. Rowan forced himself to remain awake and alert until she stumbled back into the clearing. Her arrogance and swagger seemed to have washed away along with the dirt and grime, and with her pale skin washed in silver moonlight and her damp hair she looked... younger. And just as exhausted as he felt.

Without speaking, Rowan offered her some bread and cheese from his pack, ignoring her mumbled thanks in favor of collapsing back against his tree.

Just as he felt his eyes starting to close, the girl's voice broke the peaceful quiet.

"Are there so many threats in Wendlyn that we can't risk a fire?" With some reluctance, Rowan opened his eyes. The girl had settled down against a tree on the other side of the clearing and by the looks of it had already downed all the food he’d given her except for an apple. Her eyes had gone dull again, her golden hair turned silver by the moonlight falling into the clearing through the trees. When he didn’t answer her, she stared right back, twirling the apple in one hand.

“Not from mortals,” Rowan said, closing his eyes again before he could see her reaction. Still, he sensed her shift into a more defensive position and heard the sound of steel on steel as she drew her dagger. Rowan didn’t even bother to lift his head. He’d hear any threats long before anything got close enough to do any real harm. Still, he wasn’t stupid to light a fire, not when the skinwalkers were still too close for his comfort.

There was no fear attached to the thought, no hint of self preservation in his desire to avoid inviting unnecessary trouble. Only a bone deep exhaustion, and the comforting sensation of the evening air against his skin. The sound of the wind moving through the trees was soothing, and he allowed that exhaustion to tighten its grip.

It was in that moment he felt them. The Little Folk.

There were no obvious signs of their presence, only the quiet rustling of branches and the feeling that someone was watching. The Little Folk were only seen if they wanted to be, and it it wasn’t for his Fae senses they would have likely remained undetectable as they slipped through the trees.

Or, apparently, an assassin’s instincts. Rowan hadn’t even moved from his place against the tree, but seconds after he detected the Little Folk he heard the girl gasp. The fear she’d been carrying since Wendlyn faded, replaced by shock and... longing. As if the sight of the Little Folk provoked some deep, buried memory. She had grown up in Terrasen, she would have heard stories of the spirits that protected the forest from harm.

After a moment of silence, she whispered three words into the still, attentive night air. “They still live.”

Silence, this time without the rustling of the Little Folk, followed her words. Even the birds quieted, as if the forest itself was holding its breath.

Rowan didn’t open his eyes, even when he felt the girl turn her gaze to him. Somehow, even across the clearing, it managed to burn a hole into his chest. As if she’d managed to tap into her magic and was slowly burning him into ashes with her stare. He ignored it, both that burning sensation and the cold crept into it’s place after her eyes left him.

Rowan considered saying something, asking why the appearance of the Little Folk had startled her, but by the time he opened his mouth to speak the girl had already leaned back against her own tree and closed her eyes.

Well, so much for that attempt a conversation. It was for the best, anyway. Why did he care? There would be no reason for him to ever speak to her again after tomorrow, once he’d delivered her to his queen he was done with Aelin Galathynius— and whoever the hell she was pretending to be.

After a moment, Rowan’s own breathing deepened and he felt sleep tugging at him, this time with more insistence. Still, even as he slipped off into oblivion, he could sense the Little Folk watching through the trees. As if they had been as entranced by the girl’s existence as she has been of theirs.

❀❀❀

The next morning, it was once again silent as they rode through the Cambrian Mountains and towards Mistward. Any trace of the swaggering girl he’d met in Wendlyn was long gone, replaced by the defeated shell who had returned from the stream last night. There was no bite, no fire in her gaze, and that was if she spoke at all.

The only time he bothered to break their silently agreed upon silence was to give the girl directions, and she chose to respond with barely-there nods or more often, silence. She didn’t speak a full sentence until they reached the watchtowers at Mistward.

“I think I’d rather stay in the woods,” she said, her voice once again cracking from lack of use. Still, the attempt at a glib comment wasn’t enough to hide the fear in her eyes as she studied the stone fortress in front of them. At least she was smart enough to be afraid, though not as smart as she would have been if she’d never come looking for his queen in the first place.

Rowan gave no sign he was aware of her fear as they rode past the watchtowers and through the gates, or as he led her down the hallways and staircases that led to the room where Maeve had decided to hold court for the evening. She hadn’t told him where she’d be, but he didn’t need any directions beside the ever-present tug of the blood oath around his neck. It was like a leash, and he honestly couldn’t tell if it was loosening or tightening the closer he got to her.

Rowan didn’t bother to warn the girl before he opened the door and spotted his queen sitting behind the desk, her mouth curving into a smirk as she spoke the words that made her stop dead.

_"Hello, Aelin Galathynius."_


	2. Chapter 2: Heir of Fire Chapter 8, Part 1

_Rowan didn’t bother to warn the girl before he opened the door and spotted his queen sitting behind the desk, her mouth curving into a smirk as she spoke the words that made the princess stop dead._

_"Hello, Aelin Galathynius."_

**Rowan’s POV:**

The moment the words left Maeve’s lips, the girl was moving. She skittered backwards towards the door, shock spreading across her face at the sight of his queen leering at her from behind the desk.

It was a matter of seconds before Rowan intercepted her, the girl’s body slamming into his as he slid into place behind her. Her fear was like a wave, washing over her and settling at the edges of his magic. He could almost taste it, sharp and biting as it consumed the girl and froze her where she stood. She didn’t move, her body pressed so close to Rowan he felt every one of her muscles go taut when he shut the door behind them with a gust of wind.

The scent of her fear flooded the room, sinking into every corner and crevice until the princess was drowning in it.

Maeve was still seated behind the desk, amusement flickering in her cold, immortal gaze as she noted the girl’s panic.

With her so close to him, Rowan felt the assassin try and fail to keep from trembling. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for another way out besides the door behind them. At least she had enough sense not to go for her weapons— or his. She had to know he’d cut her down the moment Maeve gave the order, or if she so much as moved in her direction. Then again, by the way the girl’s hands were shaking he wasn’t sure she could hold a dagger without dropping it.

Still, Rowan wasn’t taking any chances. Aelin Galathynius wasn’t some weak, spoiled princess. She was an assassin from Adarlan of all places, and likely one of some skill and notoriety if Maeve had chosen him to bring her in. It would be unwise to dismiss her as a threat based on his first impression of her— even if that impression had been, well, awful. Dangerous too, considering Maeve had asked him to remain here while she spoke with the princess. A conversation that was not going to go well if the hungry gleam in his queen’s eyes was any indication. She tolerated disrespect even less than he did, and that was saying something. Even if the confidence and bravado the girl had presented in Wendlyn had gone out, easily doused by their journey and Maeve’s presence, he had a feeling it wouldn’t take much to awaken it.

Maeve didn’t blink as she studied the girl. A queen in every sense of the word, one who didn’t need a crown or a throne to demonstrate her power. Only a fool would mistake her for anything other than deadly. She was the true embodiment of power, of immortality. Nightmare and legend made flesh.

As if she had heard his thoughts, the girl stopped her trembling. Her fear didn’t disappear, but it faded as she forced herself to take a single, shaky breath. A second one followed, then another. The scent of her fear still tugged at him, one of sweat and dying embers, biting at his ice and wind. Rowan ignored it, his attention entirely fixed on the girl in front of him. She had gone still, taking in his queen with empty eyes and an emotionless expression.

She cocked her head to the side, and for a moment Rowan was foolish enough to expect her to bow, to grovel at Maeve’s feet. But her head remained raised, and her voice was steady as she addressed his queen. At the sound of the rage in her voice, Rowan reached for the knife at his side as she said, “Aelin Galathynius is _dead_.”

The words themselves seemed to put a weight on the girl's shoulders. Aelin Galathynius, heir to a kingdom long since burned to ash, with an affinity for fire strong enough she could burn entire cities to the ground. Her gift had been powerful enough news of it had reached Doranelle, where the fear that Aelin Galathynius would one day take her magic beyond Terrasen’s borders and across the sea to the city of water and stone. Where she might be powerful enough to pose a threat.

The assassin Rowan had found drunk and wasting away in Wendlyn had once been a princess, a queen born to rule a kingdom that had rivaled Maeve’s lands for it’s peace and prosperity. Unbelievable, except... he had sensed her magic in that alleyway. It was dormant, buried under years of disuse and fear, but it was _there_.

Rowan realized then why his queen had chosen him for this task. Not just to find Aelin Galathynius and bring the princess to her, but to train her as well. Maeve wanted him to teach this girl how to control her magic, how to use it as a weapon so that she could one day involve the girl in the schemes already forming in that ancient, wicked mind of hers.

Maeve’s mouth curved into a simpering smile, her blood red lips parting to reveal the pointed canines beneath. She spoke then, her black, soulless eyes never once straying from the princess’s face.

“Let us not bother with lies.”

The words rolled off her tongue with immortal grace, her voice a slick, honeyed croon. It was honestly impressive the girl didn’t flinch at the tone, at the way Maeve was baiting her like a predator does prey. The smiles, the threats spoken in purrs and laden with pleasantries, were both part of the mask Maeve used to hide her true nature.

The girl took a single step forward, eyes wide and hands shaking. Rowan relaxed, leaning back against the door. The girl hesitated as she noted the movement, weighing the odds of her making it out of this room alive if she tried to make a run for it. When she realized they weren’t in her favors, she finally sank into a bow.

Maeve’s lips twitched at the sight of the girl kneeling at her feet, and for the first time since Rowan had entered the room he seriously wondered if the assassin was going to make it out of this encounter with her life. Maeve was enjoying this far too much for this to be a pleasant conversation.

"I suppose with a proper bath, you'll look a good deal like your mother.” A cold, merciless remark.

The girl, surprisingly, didn’t miss a beat. Her mouth curved into a smirk that was twin to Maeve’s, backed by fire instead of his queen’s malice. “Had I known who I would be meeting, I might have begged my escort for time to freshen up."

Maeve’s eyes flicked in Rowan’s direction, a touch of approval in her gaze. “I’m afraid I must bear the blame for the pressing pace. Though I suppose he could have bothered to at least find you a pool to bathe in along the way."

Maeve waved a hand in Rowan’s direction. “Rowan is from my sister Mora's bloodline. He is my nephew of sorts, and a member of my household. An extremely distant relation of yours; there is some ancient ancestry linking you."

If she thought anything of the information, the girl didn’t it show. “You don’t say,” she drawled, eyebrows raising in an expression of complete indifference.

Rowan had to grind his teeth together to keep from growling.

This princess, assassin, whatever she wanted to call herself, should be on her knees at his queen’s feet, not tossing around smug, entitled responses. Rowan waited for the order, ready to show her how to properly speak to his queen, but Maeve just smiled. “You must be wondering why it is I asked Prince Rowan to bring you here."

The girl’s temper flared to life at the words, at the tone, and Rowan’s hand twitched towards his sword.

“I have been waiting a long, long while to meet you. And as I do not leave these lands, I could not see you. Not with my eyes, at least.”

As Maeve spoke, the scent of fear seeped slowly back into the room. “They broke my laws, you know. Your parents disobeyed my commands when they eloped. The bloodlines were too volatile to be mixed, but your mother promised to let me see you after you were born. It would seem that in the eight years after your birth, she was always too busy to uphold her vow.”

Maeve’s eyes glittered with unconcealed malice. “But now you are here. And a grown woman at that. My eyes across the sea have brought me such strange, horrible stories of you. From your scars and steel, I wonder whether they are indeed true."

Rowan almost laughed. Whatever this girl had done, whatever she’d experienced, it was nothing compared to the horrors and atrocities he’d witnessed over the past centuries. He’d like to see what she would do if faced with even a fraction of his past, his history.

Maeve was still speaking, her eyes flicking in Rowan’s direction as she said, "Like the tale I heard over a year ago, that an assassin with Ashryver eyes was spotted by the horned Lord of the North in a wagon bound for—"

"Enough," the girl snapped, nothing but cold fury in her gaze. “I know my own history."

She glanced at Rowan for only a second, but it was long enough to make him feel a hint of curiosity. He wasn’t aware of whatever part of her past Maeve was using to try and provoke her, but it was clear she didn’t want him to know. Rowan met her glare with cold indifference, ignoring the message in her eyes. _Mind your own damn business._

"I'm an assassin,” she said, turning back to Maeve, her temper once again concealed. This time, Rowan couldn’t stop a snort from passing his lips. Assassin she may be, but this _princess_  wouldn’t last a minute in the ring with him, or any other Fae for that matter.

"And your other talents? What has become of them?" Hunger crept in Maeve’s voice, her nostrils flaring as she tried to scent a trace of the magic she sought.

"Like everyone else on my continent, I haven't been able to access them," the girl snapped, her voice tight with barely concealed rage.

"You’re not on your continent anymore.”

Maeve’s voice had gone quiet, the same way the girl’s had moments before. She, at least, seemed to remember who she was speaking with after his queen’s sudden change of tone. Rowan shifted forward, ready to intervene in case the conversation turned violent.

"Show me," Maeve purred. Not a request, but an order.

The fire I had sensed hidden beneath the girl’s skin in that alleyway flickered to life at the primal command in his queen’s voice. Maeve leaned forward, her gaze sharp and probing, as if she was trying to coax the magic out of the girl herself. I waited for the girl to start shaking again, but instead she clenched her fists and hardened her gaze. Maeve was trying to force her way into the girl’s thoughts, to force the magic out of her.

It didn’t work.

After a few long, tense moments Maeve sank back into her chair with a low laugh. "Your mother hid you from me for years. She and your father always had a remarkable talent for knowing when my eyes were searching for you. Such a rare gift— the ability to summon and manipulate flame. So few exist who possess more than an ember of it, fewer still who can master it's wildness. And yet your mother wanted you to stifle your power-— though she knew I only wanted you to submit to it."

Maeve smirked before saying her final line. "Look how well that turned out for them."

The girl tensed, the scent of her rage creeping into the room like tendrils of smoke. When she looked at his queen, the look in her eyes was nothing short of feral. Rowan reached for his sword. If she so much as blinked at Maeve wrong...

But the girl managed to collect herself, her fists unclenching even as she said, "And where were you ten years ago?"

Maeve tilted her head to the side. "I do not take kindly to being lied to."

The girl’s rage flickered out, replaced by horror.

That was why Maeve had refused to aid Terrasen all those years. Not because she lacked the resources or the ability, not because she wanted to protect her own kingdom, but because of a grudge against it’s queen for denying her.

Maeve kept talking, ignoring the girl’s obvious shock. "I have no more time to spare you. Let me be brief: my eyes have told me that you have questions. Questions that no mortal has the right to ask—about the keys." 

That was what the girl wanted from Maeve? Information about the wyrdkeys? Maeve hadn’t mentioned it to him, but by the look on the girl’s face it was true.

The assassin opened her mouth, but Maeve stopped her with a hand before she could speak. “I will give you those answers. You may come to me in Doranelle to receive them."

The girl’s temper flared to life. “Why not—“

Rowan cut her off with a growl, fighting the urge to tear out her tongue for interrupting his queen.

Maeve didn’t even glance at him, continuing on as if she hadn’t been interrupted at all. "Because they are answers that require time, and answers you have not yet earned."

“Tell me what I can do to earn them and I will do it,” the girl said, panic creeping into her voice.

A fool’s response. Maeve could demand anything she wanted of the girl, and his queen never got the short side of a bargain.

"A dangerous thing to offer without hearing the price,” Maeve purred, echoing his thoughts.

"You want me to show you my magic? I'll show it to you. But not here. Not—“

Maeve brushed her off with a wave of her hand. "I have no interest in seeing you drop your magic at my feet like a sack of grain. I want to see what you can do with it, Aelin Galathynius- which currently seems like not very much at all. I want to see what you will become under the right circumstances."

The girl had the nerve to interrupt her again. "I don't—“

"I do not permit mortals or half-breeds into Doranelle. For a half-breed to enter my realm she must prove herself both gifted and worthy. Mistward, this fortress, is one of several proving grounds. And a place where those who do not pass the test can spend their days."

"And what manner of test might I expect before I am deemed worthy?" It was clear she was exercising every ounce of control she possessed not to spit the words at Maeve’s feet.

How long would it take the girl to meet Maeve’s standards? Months? Years? Rowan couldn’t remember the last time a half-breed had entered Doranelle from Mistward, and he seriously doubted the girl would be one of the few to do so.

Maeve’s eyes met Rowan’s from across the room, amusement dancing in her gaze. She was enjoying this. “You shall come to me once Prince Rowan decides that you have mastered your gifts. He shall train you here. And you shall not set foot in Doranelle until he deems your training complete.”

Rowan looked at the girl, expecting her to protest, to refuse, but there was only anger in her gaze. A whole damn lot of it.

"What I need to know isn't something that can wait—“

"You want answers regarding the keys, heir of Terrasen? Then they shall be waiting for you in Doranelle. The rest is up to you."

The girl paused, any fight she had possessed fading. She tilted her head to the side, studying Maeve. "Truthfully. You will truthfully answer my questions about the keys."

“You haven't forgotten all our ways then,” Maeve said, smirking.

The girl didn’t even blink.

Maeve just smiled. “I will truthfully answer all your questions about the keys."

The girl opened her mouth, but Maeve cut her off. "Prince Rowan shall explain the specifics. For now, he will escort you to your chamber to rest."

The girl didn’t move to leave , her eyes narrowing. “You swear you'll tell me what I need to know?"

"I do not break my promises. And I have the feeling that you are unlike your mother in that regard too."

The girl’s anger flared to life for a moment, but was almost immediately replaced by that cold emptiness she’d had in her eyes before.

“To what end? You want me to train only so I can make a spectacle of my talents?"

Maeve smiled, and the world went still. "I wish you to become who you were born to be. To become queen." 


	3. Heir Of Fire: Chapter Eight, Part 2

_"To what end? You want me to train only so I can make a spectacle of my talents?"_

_Maeve smiled, and the world went still. "I wish you to become who you were born to be. To become queen."_

**Rowan's POV:**

As Rowan led Aelin Galathynius through the halls of Mistward, it took all of the self-control he'd gathered over the last three centuries to stop himself from slamming her into a wall.

The princess had left the meeting with Maeve in a huff, storming from the room without so much as a goodbye. Rowan had been ready to drag her back kicking and screaming and force her to give his queen the respect she deserved, but Maeve had just nodded at him to let her pass.

His queen's attitude had done nothing to help Rowan's rage. If anything, her indifference had only made it worse. The princess had disrespected her more than a dozen times during that conversation, and Maeve hadn't only tolerated it— she'd been  _amused_ by it. Rowan would normally brush it off as nothing, but he still didn't know what his queen was planning for the girl. Despite her reputation, Maeve wasn't one to keep secrets. Whatever plans she had for Aelin Galathynius, they were nefarious enough she hadn't defined to share them with him.

No matter what she wanted with the girl, his queen had her reasons but it didn't change the infuriating truth that she'd given him, a warrior honed by three centuries of battle, one who had walked on and off killing fields, the task of babysitting a princess-turned-assassin with an attitude problem. Honestly, it would have been amusing if he wasn't so furious.

Rowan glanced over his shoulder. The girl was trailing a few steps behind him, her eyes trained on the ground in an obvious attempt to avoid his gaze. Even with a few feet of space between them he could sense the rage simmering beneath her skin. She was just as pissed as he was about this entire gods-damned situation, a fact that was equally comforting and infuriating. Now, the question was just which one of them would snap first.

Unsurprisingly, the princess started it.

Rowan had begun to think he would make it to his rooms without losing it, that he might be able to avoid starting a brawl on their first night of training when—

"You must be very important to Her Immortal Majesty if she put you on nurse duty."

As the words rolled of the girl's tongue they were accompanied by the same arrogant tone she'd used in Wendlyn, the combination making it an effort not to kick her ass then and there.

Rowan waited until he was positive he could open his mouth without growling to say, "Given your history, she didn't trust anyone but her best to keep you in line."

Honestly, Rowan had no idea why Maeve had chosen  _him_ of all people for this task. Fenrys had been more than happy to volunteer, and would likely have charmed the girl into his bed by now instead of fighting with her. Then again, Fenry's interest in the princess had been an attempt to escape Maeve's clutches more than anything.

"Playing warrior in the woods doesn't seem like the greatest indicator of talent."

Oh, she wanted this. The girl knew precisely what she was asking for by provoking him, she  _wanted_ him to retaliate, to push back.

Well, if a fight was what she wanted Rowan was more than willing to deliver.

"I fought on killing fields long before you, your parents, or your grand-uncle were even born," he said, a bolt of satisfaction running through him when he saw her jaw twitch ever so slightly. It was the only sign that her mask of bravado had cracked, but it was enough that he knew the dig at her family, at her pride, had struck a chord. Just like he'd known it would. Her arrogance, like any emotion when not properly controlled, made her an easy mark.

"Who's to fight here except birds and beasts?" The girl managed to drag enough nonchalance up from whatever reserves of confidence she kept to deliver the snide remark, but the words were clipped despite her efforts.

"The world is a far bigger and more dangerous place than you can imagine, girl. Consider yourself blessed to receive any training— to have the chance to prove yourself," Rowan shot back, hoping the comment would find her pride like the last one had.

"I've seen plenty of this big and dangerous world, princeling," she snarled, drawing a short, harsh laugh out of him.

"Just wait, Aelin," Rowan said, smirking as he watched his use of her real name hit her like a physical blow.

He'd seen the way she'd reacted when Maeve had said it, how she'd coiled into herself at the reminder of her past. It was no different this time, her gaze going hard as she said, "Don't call me that."

Rowan grinned. The look in her eyes, the tone of her voice... he should drop this. It was obviously affecting her, and it wouldn't take much more to push either of them over the edge right now. He should, but Rowan was not in the mood to be the bigger person tonight. Tonight, all he wanted was a release for his anger, and if this princess was willing to provide him with one he wasn't about to turn her down. "It's your name. I'm not going to call you anything different."

The moment the words passed his lips she was standing in front of him, blocking his access to the rest of the hallway. "No one here can know who I am. Do you understand?"

She was as close as she'd been when Rowan had stopped her from escaping Maeve only this time the raw, biting scent of her fear was replaced by a hollow, empty rage. There was no spark to her words, no flames flickering in her gaze. As if the deal she'd made with his queen had snuffed out the last remaining embers of her fire.

That dead look in her eyes found the rage roiling beneath his skin and dug in like a knife. Rowan had seen the same expression on his own face a thousand times, knew what it felt like to be so empty and dead inside it was a relief to feel anything,  _anything_  at all. The sight of it was familiar enough to be painful, and when he said his next words Rowan made sure they were filled with as much disdain and loathing as he could muster. "My aunt has given me a harder task than she realizes, I think."

The girl's eyes narrowed, and there was nothing but pure, blinding hatred in her gaze as she snarled, "Fae like you make me understand the King of Adarlan's actions a bit more, I think."

Those word's, foul and hateful and cruel, snapped the already fraying restraints Rowan had placed on himself and before the girl could realize her mistake, his fist slammed into her face.

The force of the blow sent the girl stumbling backward, the smell of her blood filling the air as her head slammed into the wall. Slowly, after a moment of heavy breathing and muffled groans, she stood and locked gazes with him. Her eyes didn't leave Rowan's as she brought a hand up to her freshly split lip, or when it came away coated with blood. Then, through the blood dripping down her face, she grinned at him.

Rowan brought his arm up for another strike, but stopped himself before his fist connected with her jaw and snarled, a sound low and vicious enough it would have lesser men shaking in their boots. The girl didn't even flinch, her mouth curving into a smirk as she purred, "Do it."

The words were a taunt, but also a plea. He knew exactly what the girl wanted, and it was for him to hit her until she felt  _something_. If he gave in to his rage, he'd only be satisfying that wish. Even if the desire to beat her into unconsciousness was tempting, it wouldn't do anything to teach her discipline or respect.

So Rowan leashed his rage, smirking as he leaned in until they were face to face and said, "Why should I give you what you want?"

The girl glared at him, clearly irritated he hadn't risen to the bait. "You're just as useless as the rest of your brethren."

Rowan let out a soft, scathing laugh."If you're that desperate to eat stone, go ahead: I'll let you try to land the next punch."

The girl bristled at the invitation, her rage boiling over and into the air with its now familiar notes of ash and dying embers. She swung at him, her arm moving through the air so slowly it was laughable. Rowan dodged the blow easily, and the girl's fist struck nothing but air. Before the princess could make another attempt to hit him, Rowan sent her crashing into the wall with a single strike to the back of her leg.

The girl was only on her feet for a moment, swearing and spitting blood into the stone, before she saw the smirk on his face and lunged at Rowan— and right into the brazier behind him.

The sound echoed in the silent hallway, and Rowan let out a low, wicked chuckle at the girl's obvious efforts to try and hold back her groans. "Like I said, you have a lot to learn. About everything," Rowan sneered.

The princess bared her teeth around her already swollen lip and growled, "Go to hell you insufferable bastard."

Rowan just turned his back on her said, "Next time you say anything like that I'll have you chopping wood for a month."

The girl's shame and rage sunk into the space between them as he led her down the rest of the hallway and into her room. Rowan had to admit, it was low standards even for Maeve. The room was small, with the stone walls doing nothing to preserve the heat. It would be freezing at night. Not that he cared. The girl was probably used to silk sheets and round the clock service, it would be amusing to watch her struggle to live like the rest of them. With that in mind, Rowan turned to her and said, "Give me your weapons."

The girl straightened, eyes wide. "Why? And no."

Rowan didn't bother answering her, grabbing a bucket of water and pouring it out into the hall before holding it out to the girl and repeating himself. "Give me your weapons."

"Tell me why," the girl demanded, crossing her arms and staring at him. As if that was going to do anything.

"I don't have to explain myself to you."

"Then we're going to have another brawl."

Rowan had to laugh at that. She called _that_ a brawl? "Starting at dawn, you'll earn your keep by helping in the kitchen. Unless you plan to murder everyone in the fortress, there is no need for you to be armed. Or to be armed while we train. So I'll keep your daggers until you've earned them back."

The girl just stared at him. "The kitchen?"

Rowan grinned at her, wicked enough to make sure she understood what he thought of her. "Everyone pulls their weight here. Princesses included. No one's above some hard labor, least of all you."

"So my training includes being a scullery maid?"

"Part of it," Rowan said, still grinning. He was going to enjoy watching this princess get her hands dirty— and giving her hell while they trained until she *preferred* her work as a scullery maid.

"For an old bastard you certainly haven't bothered to learn manners at any point in your long existence," she snapped.

"Why should I waste flattery on a child who's already in love with herself?"

The girl's gaze hardened. "We're related, you know."

"We've as much blood in common as I do with the fortress pig-boy."

Her nostrils flared, but Rowan had lost both the desire and the energy required to fight her. He held out the bucket again, hiding his shock perfectly when the girl began stripping herself of her weapons instead of slamming the pail back into his face. He counted every knife and sword she threw inside, making sure they were all accounted for before turning his back on her and heading towards the door.

The only goodbye he gave before slamming it in her face was to tell her to be ready at dawn for training.

"Was it really necessary to hit her, Rowan?"

Five minutes after he'd stripped the girl of her weapons and left her in her room Rowan was kneeling in front of his queen as she smirked down at him. He'd been on his way to his own rooms when he'd felt the bond go taught, her summons reaching him across the fortress through stone walls and winding staircases. No matter how far he went, whether it was to this fortress or entire continents away, that oath would always be with him. There was no hope of escaping it, even if he wanted to. His brother was a living example of that undeniable truth.

"She deserved it," he said, keeping his head bowed. Maeve was dangerous when she was like this, all false pleasantries and hidden jabs.

"Oh, she certainly did, but I wouldn't want our new queen in training to have any excuses to justify her... performance. Send her some healing salve, tell her I wish her a quick recovery," Maeve said, her black eyes glinting with unconcealed malice.

Knowing his queen was about to end their conversation, Rowan tried once more to convince her she'd made the wrong choice in sending him here. Normally, he wouldn't have cared. Rowan didn't think, he followed orders, and had it been anyone else he would have trained them without question. But this girl... this girl was dangerous, and not because of the fire she wielded. Over the past three centuries, he'd never met someone with that familiar look in their eyes. It had put him on uneven footing, a sensation he didn't enjoy after centuries of ice and numbness.

"Are you sure I'm the best one to teach the girl? Fenrys would be better suited, or perhaps Gavriel—" Maeve waved her hand, and Rowan immediately stopped talking.

"I won't hear any more complaints from you, Rowan. I have my reason for having you train Aelin Galathynius. You've never questioned me before, and I hope you're not about to start now," Maeve snapped, her immortal, unflinching gaze going hard with the words.

"My apologies, my Queen," Rowan said, bowing his head again.

Maeve stared at him for a long moment, deciding if his apology was sufficient enough to avoid further... persuasion.

"Well, if there's nothing else, I think I'll be going."

The word's, the tone, left no room for argument. Rowan knew better than to question Maeve, and yet he'd done it anyway. It was the second mistake that girl had caused him to make. He wouldn't allow there to be a third.

Rowan was so focused on keeping his mouth shut he almost missed Maeve's next words.

"I suppose it will be interesting," she crooned, glancing at him over her shoulder.

"What?" The question passed Rowan's lips before he could stop himself.

"To see which one of you tears the other apart first."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! If you don’t know, this work was originally published on fanfiction.net @tillwhateverend. I’m currently working on rewriting it and uploading it here, so please be patient with me! Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> UPDATED AS OF 2/5/19


	4. Heir Of Fire: Chapters 11 and 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heir Of Fire Chapters 11 and 13. Rowan and Aelin begin their training- to less than satisfactory results. 
> 
> All rights go to the incredible Sarah J. Mass. I own nothing but my own interpretation of these characters. Hope you enjoy!

_"I suppose it will be interesting."_

_"What?" I asked._

_Maeve smirked down at me as she said, "To see which one of you will tear apart the other first."_

**Rowan's POV:**

After my brief conversation with Maeve I walked slowly back to my rooms, contemplating how much of a pain in the ass it was going to be training the girl. By the time I reached my rooms I was tempted to just collapse into bed and go to sleep but forced myself to summon one of the servants, telling her to bring the girl water and a change of clothes. The fact that she was an insufferable brat didn't change the fact that she reeked. No reason to make training her tomorrow any more painful that it was already going to be. And even though she had deserved the punch I'd given her I obeyed Maeve's wishes and asked the girl to give her a container of healing salve as well. Accompanied with a note saying Maeve's wished her a speedy recovery- and that she had deserved what she got.

Once the girl had left I sighed and looked around the room. It was just as I remembered it. The fire already crackling in the hearth, illuminating the worn wood furnishings and soft white sheets. Suddenly aware of how drained I was I groaned, stretching the aching muscles in my shoulders and changing into a simple pair of cotton pants. Lying down in the bed I sighed again, rubbing my eyes. Tomorrow was going to be a long day.

No doubt I would enjoy watching the girl squirm. And trust me I was planning to make her life a living hell, but it didn't change the fact I was still stuck here. I had half a mind to shift and fly around till dawn, just to escape my own head for a little while. But I needed to be up early tomorrow. I settled back down against the bed, determined to at least try and get some sleep before tomorrow.

••••

I was up hours before dawn, too restless to go back to sleep and instead spent the morning finding a suitable place to train. It hadn't taken long to find the old temple, far enough away from Mistward that our lessons wouldn't cause any damage but still only a few miles walk. I stayed in my hawk form, having decided to wait until dawn before heading down to the kitchens. I half hoped she would be running late, simply so I would have an excuse to take my anger out on someone.

Despite my hopes, she was already standing in the kitchen when I entered. Even with the bath and clean clothes she still looked half dead, her cheeks hollowed out and eyes still empty. She looked slightly smaller than she had before, her wet hair in a braid behind her back and her hands clenched around herself in an attempt to keep warm. I smirked at the sight of her bruised lip.

I turned to Emry's who was standing stiffly by the hearth. "Your new scullery maid for the morning shift. After breakfast, I have her for the rest of the day," I said to him, turning towards Aelin. I could read the surprise in her eyes that I hadn't outed her. I just stared back, giving her a shrug of indifference. If she didn't want them to know who she truly was, so be it. I couldn’t really care less.

She paused for a moment before croaking out the word. "Elentiya," she said, "My name is Elentiya."

I almost laughed at the name but something about the way her expression seemed to darken at the words stopped me. Emry's hobbled forward and bowed. "So good of you to find us additional help, Prince," he said to me before turning his probing gaze on Aelin. "Ever work in a kitchen?" This time I really did almost laugh but she just shook her head. "Well, I hope you're a fast learner and quick on your feet."

Aelin assured him she would which I took as my cue to leave, the faint sounds of Emry's introducing her to Luca following me out the door.

••••

I spent the next few hours in my hawk form flying above Mistward. I had forgotten what it was like, this freedom. I couldn't remember the last time I'd flown simply because I wanted to. Eventually I realized it was well past noon, swiping down towards the fortress.

I entered the kitchens to find Aelin sitting at the table with a recently eaten plate of food in front of her, staring at the wall. I bit back the urge to ask her whether she had actually _done_ anything but I could sense her exhaustion and aching muscles. I was actually surprised she was still here. I would have thought she would take me being late as an opportunity to shirk her responsibilities.

Aelin turned towards me, something like apprehension in her eyes. "Let's go," I said shortly and turned to leave. Her unease followed us as we stepped the courtyard and into the trees. She didn't say anything during our trek up the hillside, and I didn't say anything until we reached the ruins. Turning to face her, my face still void of all emotion Isaid, "Do your worst."

She gave me a little smirk in response. I looked her over, shirt clinging to damp skin and her boots soaked. She could barely contain her shivers and her stance was terrible. That fact that she thought she even remotely stood a chance against me was laughable to say the least. "Wipe that smarmy, lying smile off your face," I growled.

She didn't stop grinning at me though, her eyes twinkling with malice as she said, "I don't know what you're talking about."

I stalked towards her and bared my teeth. "Here's your first lesson, girl: cut the horseshit. I don't feel like dealing with it, and I'm probably the only one who doesn't give a damn about how angry and vicious and awful you are underneath."

She didn't even flinch. "I don't think you particularly want to see how angry and vicious and awful I am underneath." I almost laughed at that. At how little she knew of what I had experienced, the centuries of misery and pain I had endured. That she thought she knew darkness, that hers could even compare to mine. "Go ahead and be as nasty as you want, Princess, because I've been ten times as nasty, for ten times longer than you've been alive."

At my words the smug smirk fell off her face and was replaced with a scowl, her teeth bared. "Better. Now shift." I commanded. She glared at me.

"It's not something I can control." The words came out in a feral growl, her previously smug expression disappearing entirely.

"If I wanted excuses, I'd ask for them. Shift."

She had the audacity to look almost bored as she said, ""I hope you brought snacks, because we're going to be here a long, long while if today's lesson is dependent upon my shifting."

"You're really going to make me enjoy training you," I growled out.

"I've already participated in a dozen versions of the master-disciple training saga so why don't we just cut that horseshit too?"

That was it. I'd had enough of her bullshit. I flashed her another smile, this time letting my annoyance turn into cold hard anger. "Shut your smart-ass mouth and shift."

"No." Some emotion hit her as she said the word, her eyes flashing with something I hadn't seen before.

It was then I attacked. Surprisingly, she dodged my first blow, sidestepping my fist. I struck again and she once again twisted out of reach. I grinned, flashing around her a few times before going in again, this time for her legs. I swiped them out from under her with one swift kick, causing her to fall backwards and whack her head against the rock. She rolled over, a dazed look in her eyes and I pounced, straddling her and digging my thighs into her ribs. She didn't shove me off of her, didn't even try to twist out of my grip. She just laid there, panting. Her eyes were emotionless, no anger or fear in them as she gazed up at me.

"Shift," I growled at her. She gave me a blank look and let out a croaking, wretched laugh.

"Nice try," was all she said. Blood was trickling down her face as I pressed into her and she let out another wheezing laugh. "You think you can trick me into shifting by pissing me off?" I snarled at her, my anger growing with every word. This girl- this laughing, arrogant, useless girl was who Maeve was expecting me to turn into a warrior.

"Here's an idea," she said, arrogance lacing every syllable, "I'm rich as hell. How about we pretend to do this training for a week or so and then you tell Maeve I'm good and ready to enter her territory and I'll give you all the gods-damned gold you want." I felt fury once against wash over me. How dare she try and _pay me off_. Me, a fae warrior who had been alive before she was even thought of. I didn't bother to control myself as I lunged for her, my teeth so close to her neck that if I shifted an inch forward I'd be tearing out her throat.

"Here's an idea," I whispered against her neck, throwing her words back at her. "I don't know what the hell you've been doing for ten years, other than flouncing around and calling yourself an assassin. But I think you're used to getting your way. I think you have no control over yourself. No control, and no discipline—not the kind that counts, deep down. You are a child, and a spoiled one at that. And, you are a coward." The smirk that had been plastered on her face disappeared as I said that final sentence and she started writhing underneath me, fury suddenly burning through her. I sneered, laughing at her reaction. "Don't like that word? Coward. You're a coward who has run for ten years while innocent people were burned and butchered as you sat by and watched-" I stopped mid sentence.

She had stopped struggling, staring up at me blankly, no emotion on her face. I growled at her but she didn't respond and I, for some reason slipped off of her. I had seen that look in a soldiers eyes before, a look so empty and lifeless that I knew there was no point in trying to talk her out of it. It had been the look on my face for years. After Lyria- I cut the thought off before it could form and growled at her. "Get up."

She didn't. I said the words again and when she didn't move I grabbed her under her shoulders and pulled her up, snarling in annoyance at her behavior. Pulling her to me, I spat in her face. "Pathetic, spineless and pathetic."

She looked at me, something like determination in her gaze as she closed her eyes. It only lasted a moment before she looked back up at me, this time her gaze filled with nothing but hopelessness. I didn't say anything, didn't speak to her as I turned away and made my decision. Fine. If she didn't want to learn I wouldn't waste my time. She had already expressed how badly she wanted to leave and honestly nothing would make me happier then to be back in Doranelle, never having to see that girl and her empty, lifeless eyes again. If she wanted out, I'd give her an out. And since she seemed to not want to fight me maybe she would want to fight... something else.

I didn't tell her where we were going on the way to the fields, waiting until we were at the edge of the plateau. Drawing my sword and dagger, I turned to her and said, "I had planned to wait until you had some handle on your power—planned to make you come at night, when the barrow-wights are really something to behold, but consider this a favor, as there are few that will dare come out in the day. Walk through the mounds—face the wights and make it to the other side of the field, Aelin, and we can go to Doranelle whenever you wish." It was a trap, and she had to know it. There was no way she, half dead and without any control over her magic, and with dried blood still covering her face would be able to take on the wights. But maybe... I had brought her here in the daylight. A small mercy. Maeve had considered her worthy of her (my) time. Maybe this _assassin_ had a trick or two up her sleeve. Then we could both be rid of each other.

She glanced at my weapons and I fought off a laugh, shrugging. "You can either wait to earn back your steel or you can enter as you are now."

Her temper flared as she said, "My bare hands are weapons enough."

I gave her a taunting grin as we descended into the fields, walking with her until we reached one of the barrows. "I leave you here," I said, flashing her a feral grin. "I'll meet you on the other side of the field." I waited, expecting her to bolt, to run back to Mistward with her tail between her legs. Hell, any sensible person would have. But she just gave me a nod and turned, stepping onto the field to face the wights.


	5. Heir Of Fire: Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Aelin insists she doesn’t need Rowan’s help or want it he takes her to the wights to prove herself. 
> 
> All rights go to the incredible Sarah J. Mass. I own nothing but my own interpretation of these characters. Hope you enjoy!

**Rowan's POV:**

_I waited expecting her to bolt, to run back to Mistward with her tail between her legs. Hell, any sensible person would have. But she just gave me a nod and turned, stepping out onto the field to face the wights._

I watched as she stepped out onto the field towards the ancient, swirling stones. I could hear her heart pounding, smell the fear flooding her. I knew she wanted to run, wanted nothing more than to sprint across the field and get it over and done with. No doubt she could feel the heavy, cloying presence the wights brought. Despite the fear coursing through her she slowed, her steps becoming careful and silent.

I watched the wight, rippling with cold hunger as it lingered at the edge of it's barrow. Waiting for the moment it would attack. I would step in before it did any real damage. Then again, maybe a run in with the wights would give her a greatly needed attitude adjustment.

But the wight didn't move, staying close to the edge of the barrow. Like it was hesitating. Perhaps it could sense whatever magic teemed beneath the girls bones, or my presence. Was simply calculating the risk before it struck. I waited a few more moments, watching Aelin creep slowly past the burrow.

Then it hit me. A pulsing cold suddenly filling the air at the same moment Aelin broke into a run, grass crunching underneath her feet. The wight didn't move to attack her though, lingering on the edge of the barrow. Not hesitating as I had thought. Afraid.

The deathly chill filled the air as Aelin passed the central mound, barely ten feet away from the edge of the field. The wight recoiled, slipping back into the barrow. Aelin was steps away from the edge of the field. Then I saw him, it, whatever it was. Definitely not a wight. Not even anything I'd seen before.

A beautiful looking creature with flowing black hair and porcelain skin stood at the end of the field, an onyx torque around it's strong, muscular neck. I caught barely a glimpse of it before it and Aelin were engulfed in darkness. A pure black cloud smothering everything until it was like I was staring into the depths of night, not a hint of light in the descending blackness. It hadn't vanished though. I could still sense it's power, roiling in the field with a cold purpose. And I could still feel Aelin, somewhere amidst the shroud of darkness that had engulfed her.

The air was filled with the scent of magic, of wrongness. That creature was not something that existed naturally in this world. No. Whatever it was had been made, created. It's scent filled the air, reeking of death, blood, and decay.

I felt Aelin's terror spike, even with her emotions muffled by the cloud of darkness. I waited at the edge of the field, the darkness never moving. I was about to head towards it, knowing Maeve would not be pleased if her little plaything died but then Aelin appeared from the inky blackness, letting out a series of hoarse shrieks as she half ran, half fell through the grass. She landed at my feet, retching, with tears streaming down her face. Whatever that thing was- it had certainly done a number on her. She began to sob, the cry's escaping her in hurried, panicked gasps. Suddenly I felt something else fill the heavy air. A different kind of magic, a wildfire roaring to life. I glanced up the creatures form where it still stood in the field, shadows curling around it as it slowly stepped away.

Aelin was still curled up in the grass by my feet and I saw it, her ears becoming sharp and pointed, her fangs sliding into place as she shifted into her Fae form. But just as suddenly as they had appeared they were gone as Aelin shrieked in agony. Her power surged, and she shrieked as she shifted again. Flickering between human and immortal within the blink of an eye. But she had no control, no hold on whatever power she had. If she would just focus. But she remained where she was on the ground twitching, whatever she had witnessed in the creatures darkness still having a hold on her.

I growled in frustration as I leaned down to pick up her now limp form and found her clothes covered in vomit and her pants soiled. Somewhere amidst the shifting she must have passed out. I let out an irritated huff. No way would I be carrying her then. I grabbed onto her feet and began to drag her away even though every instinct of mine was telling me to leave her there and track down whatever it was that had done this to her which would no doubt be gone by the time I dragged her far enough away.

I stopped when we reached a clearing, her body still unresponsive and decided I might as well circle back and check to see if the creature was still there. I made the short trek back to the wight field, my dagger poised at my side. But as I had expected there was nothing. Whatever that thing was it was long gone, leaving only that smell of death and decay behind. Sighing in frustration I made my way back to the clearing, Aelin still lying on the forest floor. I looked at her, her pants soiled and clothes covered in vomit. But something else was different. It was like that thing had sucked the color, _the life_ out of her skin.

As I waited for her to wake up the silence gave me time to think. What the hell was that creature? Not once in the hundreds of years I walked this earth had I seen or heard of anything like it. Whatever it was, I needed to track it down. Soon. The sounds of Aelin stirring caused me to turn to look at her as she slowly pulled herself upright and looked around the clearing until her gaze locked on me. A momentary flash of irritation filled her eyes before she looked down at her soiled clothes, causing her face to redden. I felt a sudden flood of irritation at her, at her lack of control.

She could have died a dozen times on that field, from whatever that thing was or just because of her lack of control over her shifting. Godsdamned _idiot_. "No discipline, no control, and no courage," I snarled down at her. "You failed. You made it to the other side of the field but I said to face the wights- not throw a magical temper tantrum."

Her gaze once again turned fiery. "I will kill you. How dare you-" she growled, her voice still hoarse from screaming.

"That was not a wight, princess," I said, looking through the trees in the direction of the field.

She just glared at me. "What was it then?"

I clenched my jaw before grinding out the words. "I don't know. We've had skinwalkers on the prowl for weeks, roaming down from the hills to search for human pelts, but this ... this was something different. I have never encountered its like, not in these lands or any other. Thanks to having to drag you away, I don't think I'll learn anytime soon."

I shot her a glance before adding, "It was gone when I circled back. Tell me what happened. I saw only darkness, and when you emerged, you were... different."

She looked down at herself at my words, as if checking she was still here. After a few moment she looked up at me and practically hissed her next few words, "No. And you can go to hell."

"Other lives might depend on it," I shot back.

She ignored me. "I want to go back to the fortress," she said, her lips tight. "Right now."

"Your done when I say your done," I snapped. Not only was she an idiot with no control, she was also selfish and rude. Really, Maeve couldn't have chosen a better charity case.

The faint sense of cracklings flames and light filled the air between us as she growled out the words."You can kill me or torture me or throw me off a cliff but I am done for today. In that darkness, I saw things that no one should be able to see. It dragged me through my memories - and not the decent ones. Is that enough for you?"

I should rip out her throat for speaking to me like that, had killed people for less. Reigning in my anger enough to simply snarl at her before turning to head back Mistward took a more restraint than I would like to admit. What the hell was wrong with me? I couldn't remember the last time someone had annoyed me this much. Even if she was an insufferable _brat_ it didn't excuse how much I'd been letting her get under my skin. I ignored the sounds of her stumbling behind me, not speaking a word to her as we walked through the wards and past the sentries. Enough embarrassment hit her at their gaze that I smirked.

By the time we reached the bathing rooms I was completely and irrevocably ready to be rid of her and all I wanted was to not have to look at her empty, despair filled eyes a second longer. "These are the female baths. Your room is a level up. Be in the kitchens at dawn tomorrow," I said before turning on my heel and leaving.

I walked back to my rooms, and despite my thoughts being almost entirely consumed with figuring or whatever the hell that thing had been I couldn't stop my brain from drifting back to the girl. And what she had seen in that darkness to put that look in her eyes.


End file.
